


Gone Wrong

by darkwood



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a prompt response for the DARBB 2013. </p><p>"I Don't Care if You Want Me" had the description of: A fanmix for a dysfunctional, codependent relationship.</p><p>Explores the start of the relationship between Anders and Justice. Set during and post DA: Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was especially taken with the Nina Simone song, "Isn't it a Pity" and the Janis Joplin song "Piece of My Heart". After some thinking about it, the two singers and these songs took on the voices and tones of the two main characters in the scenario. There was a little musical supplementing, but I focused there and it got me through a question that I've been asking for quite a while.

At first the only good thing about being a Warden was that the Templar couldn’t have him. That seemed like a small miracle in and of itself. Anders had spent so long escaping the clutches of the Templar that it was almost as natural as summoning mana to cast a spell. Having an iron-clad reason that they couldn’t swoop in and return him to the Circle was almost worth the shortened lifespan and increased appetite.

Almost.

There were a few good things about being a Warden, though. The fresh air, of course. He was left alone without anyone thinking him crazy or otherwise in need of silencing, even if the other Wardens rolled their eyes at his jokes on occasion. He got to shoot lightning at his enemies without repercussion. And then there was the Warden Commander. 

She was hot. 

Anders wondered if that was an Orlesian trait, or if all female Grey Wardens were required to meet a certain standard of beauty. Mhairi certainly hadn’t looked bad beneath her helmet.

Nathaniel was an unholy prat, and Ohgren was a foul smelling pile of excrement, but the Commander was hot. 

Unfortunately, she was also the Commander of Mixed Signals.

He was the one who’d been drunk at the time. Being drunk certainly hadn’t made him unwilling, but she ought to at least have been good enough to have a second go at it when he was more in control of his memory. Instead she got all huffy. If she was going to make good memories with him, she should at least let him hang onto them. All he’d gotten out of that night was a worn out, sore pair of otherwise useful legs and an appreciation for how comfortable sex in a bed could leave you in the morning. All the particular details were lost in the haze of inebriation, and hovered just out of his active memory to tease him in the Fade.

Though he would never own up to it, Anders pouted his whole way to through the Blackmarsh. 

He was surprised to be confronted with Justice in the Fade, and more surprised when Justice followed them out of it. To be honest, the spirit didn’t seem like the type for corpse possession, but Fade creatures were tricky to discern.


	2. Chapter 2

         There was something utterly and completely fascinating about humans, Justice found. It was nothing to the song he could hear in the presence of lyrium, but it drew him in nonetheless. They had such strength in them, such possibility for all range of actions that it was hard to look away from them.

         To say that the traces of Kristoff helped light the spark of this would not be wrong.

         To say that the way he felt when he contemplated Aura kindled the feeling would continue to not be wrong.

         It scared Justice that he even contemplated such things. He was conviction, he was certainty. He was not _fear_ and he was not this nonsense of _feeling._

         The others were all understandable, however. Justice found that he could look at the other Wardens as he would look at another Fade spirit, and he felt he knew them in that way. He named immediately, but without giving voice to his conclusions aloud.

         The Commander was Duty.

         The male dwarf was Gluttony.

         The human archer was Loyalty.

         The mage was… Sloth…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         The Wardens were supposed to be likened to Spirits, not Demons. Justice was not supposed to find it easy to relate to Demons. He was not a Demon, and there was nothing about _Demons_ that he wanted to emulate.

         And just because half of those around him were most easily likenable to what would make a Demon from the Fade did not mean that that was all there was to them.

         Justice resolved himself on studying those around him. He hoped that in doing so, the echoes of Kristoff that lingered in him would begin to make a sort of sense.

         He was not prepared to be confronted by the source of those echoes.

         When they returned to Vigil’s Keep, Kristoff’s wife was waiting for them. Something inside him surged at the very sight of her. That something was crushed at the abhorrent look on her face as he got close.

         It was a wound he did not understand, even once he had done all he could to mend the hurt he had caused.

         Aura’s eyes haunted him even once he was not faced with them.

         For the most part, the other Wardens were alright with ignoring this. The Warden Commander, at least, tried. She took him up to the battlements, and asked him if he was alright.

         He did not know how to be ‘alright’, or what being ‘not alright’ was. He was confused by the uneasiness that settled in him. It was a sensation that was absolutely foreign to him, and one he did not like.

         Commander Caron was patient with him when he expressed these things, but her assurance that there ‘wasn’t always a way to fix things’ was of no help to him. He did not feel it right to confront her attempt at helpfulness with so much disrespect, so he held his tongue. He agreed when she offered to listen if he had more questions, but she was required in the hall so that everyone could eat.

         Food was important to the Grey Wardens that had a pulse.

         Justice allowed her to excuse herself without telling her that the uneasiness was stirring within him.

         So much sensation was overwhelming.

         Rather than dwelling on what he could not undestand and did not know how to admit to, he chose to watch the others more closely. If it was possible to liken them more surely to Spirits, he would find it useful.

         Justice regarded the others closely.

         It became obvious that there was more to be made of the mortals than he had at fist surmised.

         The archer was also possessed of Rage and of Honor.

         The male dwarf was also Brave.

         The Commander was Patience and Fervor.

         The mage… was Indolence and Passion.

         Specifically, the mage – no, not just ‘the mage’, it was _Anders_ – was passionate about the Commander. It was something that Justice had not meant to notice, but he was confronted with it when they were on their way to the Wending Wood and the two had disappeared from the chosen campsite. Concerned for his companions, Justice had headed out to look for them. Hushed voices lead the way to them, and Justice at first thought that Anders was somehow attacking the Commander.

         Then an echo of Aura rippled through him, and he understood.

         What Anders was doing to the Commander was an act of love, or at the very least of passion. Justice was not sure entirely sure it was the sort of thing that was meant to be done with one party still mostly in plate armor, but the Commander didn’t seem to mind the discomfort if the sounds the she was stifling were any gauge of her approval.

         It certainly explained Nathaniel’s stiffness as he moved about the camp making it ready for sleeping.

         The lingering uneasiness he felt each time he thought of his host body’s wife, a sensation born from Aura’s glare, crumbled in the face of a new sensation.

         He could no longer deny that what he was stubbornly calling ‘sensation’ was feeling. He stood watching the two of them, a dark shape in a darkening forest, and his mind replaced the two of them with what he could recall from Kristoff’s memories.

         It was a curious feeling, but it was pleasant. The echoes of Kristoff and Aura became curiosities to try and puzzle.

         Justice left the two of them to their pleasure for the evening. He returned to the camp they had set, and found Nathaniel working on the contents of his quiver. The man seemed more stiff than he had earlier, as though he was afraid of something. The other Wardens often got that way around him. Justice did not grudge them their reactions, he knew he was a thing that had never been before, and they were only mortal. Fascinating as they were, they were prone to vast swings of emotion and judgement.

         The Commander was patient with him, and had offered her ear should he ever need it, but he did not think that questioning her would yield an answer he could understand. She was very certain of things for a mortal. Whatever she based her certainty on must be experience, and that was not a thing he could glean from just conversation with her. Her explanations were not revealing enough.

         No, he would not be able to understand her answer to his question.

             Justice decided he would seek out Anders for his answers.


	3. Chapter 3

         If this was love, Anders thought he’d like to take back the wistful wish he’d made in Amaranthine. This kind of love was messy, it was complicated, and he had absolutely no idea when it had started what it was really going to be like. It certainly wasn’t like what it was in books. What’s worse was that he didn’t have anyone to talk about it with.

         Despite all his escaping, that was a first.

         At Lake Calenhad, there’d been Karl.

         Karl was an oftentime lover, but more than that he was a friend. With Sometimes it was like having an older sibling. Karl would listen to Anders when he had a plot, and all Karl offered was support. It was amazing to look back on it, because Anders had since become convinced that Karl was certain that Anders would be caught. Only once had Karl ever said a word against his plotting, and Anders knew he should have listened, because that was when they’d locked him in solitary confinement.

         And now there was this mess, and there was no Karl to talk to about it. It was frustrating, and Anders felt almost like he had lost the rational part of his mind.

         Leonie was all sorts of things. Her hair smelled wonderful, no matter what they were doing. He couldn’t place the scent she used, but he could smell it even when she charged past him to start a battle. She had nimbler fingers than he’d come across in anyone who didn’t do some sort of fine craft work, and she used them on him with very little hesitation.

         Not all of them were as pleasant, though. She hit like a charging bull, wore fifty pounds of armor, and sloughed through disgusting things like she was taking a stroll in a meadow.

         In theory, the other warriors ought to be able to shed some light on her behavior, but Anders could not bring himself to ask Ohgren a question like that. Not only had the foul-smelling bag of vinegar scented piss almost taken his head off with a drunken axe swing, but the idea of holding a serious conversation with a half-sized prick who urinated in his armor and thought belching was the pinnacle of humor was… undesireable.

         Similarly Nathaniel was an unlikely candidate for advice. The archer seemed to have gotten over his vicious desire to kill them all for usurping his ancestral family home, but he still seemed put-out that Leonie hadn’t picked him. (Even if it wasn’t true, Anders would always think that was what Nathaniel’s problem was, he certainly didn’t seem the type looking for an actual stick up the ass.)

         Sigrun considered his questions childish, he could tell.

         Velanna considered him inferior and not worth talking to. That was partly his fault, but he’d never admit it unless he had to.

         They were all getting along much more – with the exception of Velanna, who seemed defensive trapped in a Keep full of humans – but there wasn’t quite enough ease with any of his companions to ask-

         Well. There was always Justice.

         Anders cringed at the thought of asking a Spirit for advice about people. Justice was very focused about things, and got uncomfortable when asked anything that could be considered personal. It wouldn’t work.

         Or at least that’s what Anders thought until Justice came to him.


	4. Chapter 4

             The answer that Justice received to his questioning was frustrating. At first Anders seemed not to want to answer the question. It was a simple one. ‘Do you love the Commander?’ was not the strangest thing that Justice had questions about, and it was obvious from the way the others joked or commented that the answer was yes.

             So why this avoidance?

             Justice asked more questions, different ones, but all his questions seemed to do were to irritate Anders.

         In the end, Anders retreated and Justice was left sitting alone at one end of the table in the man hall as the other Wardens ate. It was frustrating. Not being alone, Justice was unaccustomed to any close association.

         The villagers in the Blackmarsh were the only companions he could recall. It had taken a long time to win their trust in him. He had been trying to explain something to them that was so foreign that they could not understand. For what mortals would no doubt call years, the villagers carried on as though things were the same. They chose not to notice what was different about their situation.

         Justice wished he were equally able to be ignorant, but neither the body he was in nor the company he kept allowed him such a luxury.

         When he met next with Anders, the man seemed wholly unconcerned by anything he had been asked. Anders answered easily, in a manner that implied he was far more relaxed than he had been. Justice could not discern the cause, but whatever caused the change was welcomed.

         All manner of conversations yielded easy discourse. Justice heard Nathaniel mutter, more than once, that Anders seemed fond of the sound of his own voice, but that was immaterial. The mage was conversing with him, and though the interaction, Justice learned about humans.

         Mortals – as Anders told him might be somewhat more acceptable than trying to lump all the races under the word ‘humans’ – were full of contradictions, and that made understanding them difficult.

         Things that Justice found simple were made difficult by mortals.

         Anders’ cat, for instance. Justice did not understand the concept of having a pet, less so when Anders smirked and said he ‘was the Commander’s’. It was a declaration that got a groan out of Nathaniel, and a dirty sounding chuckle out of Ohgren. Sigrun commented that ‘at least the Commander took care of her things, then’, and Velanna snorted derisively and muttered something under her breath.

         What made matters worse was that when asked similar questions, each of the Wardens had a different answer. Even when grouped together according to similar qualities, there was no consistency. Sigrun could not be depended on to answer in a way similar to Nathaniel, Velanna had a completely different answer from Anders, and neither Ohgren nor the Commander could be expected to agree about much of anything beyond killing darkspawn. It would not be possible to understand them if this was the way in which they responded to the same stimuli.

         The matter was most troubling.

         “Is something the matter, Justice?” Anders asked. The four of them were making the slow, pained walk back from Drake’s Fall.

         Justice was surprised that Anders noticed anything at all. The fights they had just completed – first the Architect and then the Mother – were brutal, and even Kristoff’s body felt heavier to move than normal. The Warden Commander had been further into the fray than he had, and her armor was singed and dented and scratched. Nathaniel’s bow string was snapped, and there were bruises showing from where he had been flung into things. Anders had spent his mana on the fight, and then had found more to heal their injuries afterwards.

         That he was even awake and walking was impessive.

         “I… do not wish to trouble you.”

          “I could use someone else’s trouble for a change.”

         Justice glanced at the mage. He was staring at the Commander’s back as though his gaze alone might put a hole in her armor. “If… you are certain.”

         “Oh quite,” Anders replied. “Trouble away.”

         “Mortals are most confusing,” Justice said. “They cannot be depended upon to be even remotely dependable.”

         “I… see.”

         “When presented with the same situation, each of you will act differently. There is no consistency in such behavior, and therefore no way to understand you.”

         “Well we can’t all be Spirits,” Anders replied. The sun was behind them, and Anders leaned on his staff as they walked, using it as a walking stick. “We wouldn’t be alive if we all acted predictably. It would make us mindless, and that’s terribly easy to kill. Worse than darkspawn, really.”

         “Being consistent does not mean a being is mindless.”

         “I never said you were mindless, Justice,” Anders said. He looked over at Justice. “Just that mortals are individuals, and individuals have separate reactions, even to the same stimuli. Not every mage tries to escape the Circle, and… I suppose… not _every_ Templar is a sodding rotten bastard that exploits people just for being born.” Anders turned his eyes towards the Commander again, a look that Justice did not truly understand.

         “That does not explain how it is possible to understand the actions of your companions,” Justice replied.

         “It’s called _trust_ ,” Anders said, lowering his voice. He sighed.

         “How does one… develop this trust?”

         “Usually by not stabbing your companions in the back.”

         “None of the Wardens seem capable of that.”

         “It’s a metaphor, Justice. I could just as easily have said, ‘Or attempting to take off your companions’ head.’ But Ohgren was drunk at the time, and I am a fantastic healer, so there’s nothing to worry about there.”

         “His attack was not intended,” Justice reasoned. “You have… forgiven him, and he retains your trust.”

         “I trust that foul-smelling little git to make crude comments and murder things in a path twice as wide as he is tall.”

         “As a Grey Warden, that seems an admirable trait.”

         Anders chuckled and picked up the pace of his walking to keep from falling too far behind the other two. They walked in silence for the distance of more than a field.

         It struck Justice in the lull of conversation that he was acting as the villagers had in the Blackmarsh. He was trying to make sense of things in a way that was familiar to him, and in doing so, he had gone too far. He had tried to mark the other Wardens with their traits, but they were more than just a single trait.

         Anders could be indolent, but he was also dedicated. Usually when they walked, Anders practiced twirling his staff. The motions he made were those that he used in battle when casting a spell. He was passionate – lustful – about the Commander, but at times seemed to have an equal passion for other things. His hatred of the Templar, for instance, burned just as brightly. The fight in Anders was exceptional.

         Somehow, mortals cared for more things. They did not seem to uphold those things in a way that Justice was familiar with, but it made them more active.

         Justice stared at the path ahead of them, marking the footsteps in the mud that were made by the Commander and Nathaniel. Even they were not straight.

         That might be caused by exhaustion, given the circumstances, but it was still an accurate observation.

         “Cheer up, Justice,” Anders said. “It’s very hard to understand people. They just don’t make sense.”

         When Justice looked up at Anders, something seemed different. Perhaps it was the smile on his face, but Justice felt… better.

         He may never understand them all, but here was a mortal he could come to know. Here was a mortal that was fascinating and alive. Here was a mortal that did not shy from either the state of his vessel or the questions posed.

         Yes. Here was Anders.


	5. Chapter 5

         Being ‘friends’ with a Spirit was confusing. Justice had no personal anecdotes to share. Justice wasn’t exactly ‘personal’ about most things, and that made it hard to relate to him. It took quite a while for Anders to notice anything specific about Justice beyond the state of his decay.

         First it was the way he assigned himself a personal mission for Aura. Then it was his request for lyrium. The latter was more confusing than the former. Anders supposed that if he were in Justice’s situation, he would consider himself responsible for making amends to the widow he had robbed of a body.

         It sobered Anders to think of that, what with talking darkspawn that answered to a sort of a master that was not apparently an Arch Demon. And it wasn't like Grey Wardens had a long life-expectancy even without the curios new darkspawn to worry about. Oh, and Leonie was _always_ at the fore when they plunged into battle.

         More than that, his heart wrenched at the very thought of leaving Leonie. Even with the current tension between them, the thought of it made him feel empty and alone.

         That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Loving someone didn’t advance that sort of a feeling. Loving someone was supposed to make you feel safe and cared for. It wasn’t… this.

         Anders wondered if he’d somehow become possessed, or if he was somehow trapped in the Fade. That thought had come across his mind weeks prior, but he couldn’t get rid of it. He kept up with the spells he studied, but his bed had been cleared of the worst of his ‘academic mess’ as she called it. They had started sleeping alone, and he hadn’t even checked to see whether her door was left open to him at night anymore.

         Leonie didn’t seem affected by the separation, despite all her breathless words of devotion and adoration. She pushed on despite it, and the only affect it seemed to have was that she looked a bit tired.

         He tried not to think about it, but he wasn’t as good at ignoring what bothered him as she was. Every night he thought about how Pounce never woke him up when he was in her chamber, or how much more comfortable her bed was to sleep in. He found himself turning his nose into his pillow seeking the scent of the oil she used on her hair, and he conjured her room in the Fade to hide in from anyone else he might run into.

         The worst part of it was the miserable lonely feeling that settled in whenever he slowed down.

         He knew that talking to someone else would do nothing to solve his problem, but it got to the point where he _had_ to talk about it, if only to keep from going mad. Obsession like that was bound to end up getting him possessed… if he wasn’t already.

         “You seem troubled, Anders. Is there anything particular that bothers you?”

         Over the months of fighting alongside the Spirit, and explaining things and talking during the endless walking, Justice had grown to be a comfortable companion. Anders thought that Justice was a lot like Karl, in many ways, and Anders missed Karl’s steady presence and sound advice keenly.

         So, since Justice offered…

         “It’s _Leonie_ ,” Anders said softly, putting a hand to his brow and stopping at the foot of the stairs that would lead up into the main hall.

         “Is the Commander alright?” Justice asked, stopping and half-reaching for his sword.

         _Of course_ that was Justice’s reaction. This would never work. Anders turned towards the kennels with a frown, expecting to be left alone.

         Greaved footsteps followed him.

         “Your reaction confuses me,” Justice said. “I do not believe the Commander is unwell, and yet you are still troubled. I thought you were troubled because of her health. It often concerns you.”

         “She’s my lover, Justice, of course it _concerns me_.” Anders winced as he said it. He hadn’t meant to snap that out.

         “I am aware that you and the Commander share a relationship that involves physical passion. This does not explain your behavior. You are most often made placid by the association. I can offer no assistance if I do not know what it is that troubles you.”

         Faced with such a blatantly honest offer, Anders was at a loss.

         “If you do not wish to discuss it in this place, we may go elsewhere. I understand your association requires discretion.”

         “I’m going to need alcohol for this,” Anders replied.


	6. Chapter 6

         When Anders had said that he required alcohol for the explanation, Justice had acceded. Mortals were strange, and if alcohol was somehow used to assist conversation, Justice would not naysay it. He was not prepared for the state that Anders drank himself into. Though Justice’s sense of smell was muted by the state of the body he was housed in, he could detect the change as Anders began to smell more like the substance he was spilling on himself as he poured out what was troubling him.

         The explanation began concise. Anders and the Commander were not on ‘good terms’. Justice took this to mean that they had not shared physical interaction in private, and that was important to Anders. It did not seem, to Anders at least, to be important to the Commander.

         As the alcohol continued, it became more obvious that the problem had something to do with magic, or something to do with the Templar.

         By the time Justice removed the bottle from Anders’ reach, the story was about being given up and abandoned. There was such impassioned distress in the telling of the very confusing tale that it upset Justice.

         “I… I’ve jusht… not ever been thish… lonely before,” Anders said. He was slumped against Justice’s arm. It was closer than any of the Wardens normally came to his vessel. There were brief occasions when Anders or Velanna came near to cast a spell on him, or to perform some minor repair to Kristoff’s body, but this touch appeared willing and without ulterior motive.

         “I cannot say you do not feel so, Anders,” Justice said, trying to adjust to the sensation of heat that he could feel dimly from that side of his body. “But you are not alone,” Justice said.

         Anders settled closer, sniffling softly. “Thangs for sheying tha’.”

         “I say it because it is truth,” Justice replied.

         Sneezing, Anders shook his head and then slumped forward over his knees. “I whish yew wedr light.”

         “There has been more than enough alcohol,” Justice replied. “I believe you will see the truth more if you are sober.”

         “Wha’ d’yew-”

         “This will sober you up.” Justice looped an arm around Anders’ waist. He hefted the two bodies up to their feet, and marched Anders from the corner of the kennels they had retreated to so that they would not be overheard.

         Though it was before he had joined the Wardens, Justice knew that the Commander had, reportedly, sobered up Ohgren after a near-fatal accident involving his axe. Justice had heard the other dwarves laughing at the warrior about it, asking if he enjoyed the trough of water he’d been dunked in. Not knowing drunkenness, Justice supposed her method to be affective at clearing a head of drunkenness.

         The trough still stood where it had then, and it was still filled with clear, cold water. Justice gripped the collar of Anders’ robes and proceeded to plunge his head into the trough.

         It only took one dunk to rouse Anders. The mage shot upright and shoved at the arms around him “Sober me uph! That’sll drown me!”

         “It has woken you.”

         Anders swiped at his face in annoyance, and wrinkled his nose before he sneezed loudly. “Whash that shmell?”

         “Do you mean the alcohol, or the corpse?” Justice asked.

         Anders winced. “Shorry, Justice, I-”

         “I lack the sentiment of self-consciousness you are apologizing for,” Justice replied. “But I appreciate the idea of it.”

         “Whash was all that fhor, anyway?” Anders asked in a slur, threading fingers through his hair to wring some of the water out.

         “In your intoxication, you failed to see reason.”

         “I’m dlunk, Juhstis,” Anders replied, “wha reason?”

         “You are not alone,” Justice repeated. “I will not hear you speak as though you are.”

         Anders looked at him, squinting just a bit. For a moment, Justice was uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but then a smile spread across Ander’s lips. It was a broad, happy smile, and Justice felt his lips twitch in a very foreign physical response.

         His brows lifted when Anders lurched forward and threw soggy arms around the armor that Justice was wearing. “Thangs,” Anders said softly, resting his forehead on one of the heavy pauldrons.

         “You are… welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

         “Justice said I could find you up here.”

         Anders looked up from the potion he was working on, startled that anyone had come up into the tower he had set up his potion-making in. He was almost surprised to find that it was Leonie who had come to disturb him. Her voice sounded different. She sounded distracted. Anders noticed, because they were the first words that she had spoken to him without the others nearby in almost a month.

         Turning, he found she looked as bad as she sounded. There were dents in her armor that appeared to have been hastily bashed out. Her helmet was off and blood was splattered on her armor and her face. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her complexion was so off that the tattoos on her cheeks looked like intricate bruises.

         He rose from his stool and crossed to inspect her more closely.

         Close up, it was obvious that she needed a bath. Her hair was coming out of the careful bun she kept it in, and the copper hair made a halo around her face that made her look sickly pale.

         “Anders?”

         He said the first thing that came to his mind. “Are you alright?”

         “I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “But there’s a mission.”

         Anders reached up and brushed her hair back behind her ear. When she didn’t flinch or turn her head away, he smiled. It had been a month, hadn’t it, since she’d come to him. Early on he had been one of her near-constant companions, but lately he was only with her on a mission if he happened to be in the Hall when she called them to arms.

         “Anything you need,” Anders assured her. Encouraged by the way her head tipped in the direction of his hand, he lifted his other hand and bushed his fingers along her cheek. He couldn’t help but ease a gentle healing spell into her as he did it.

         “I need you to go to the Blackmarsh with Nathaniel and Justice,” Leonie said. He voice dropped, and her eyes closed partway. “I think we missed something. One of the Banns said he lost men there.” She closed her eyes and muttered, “Though what they were doing there when we’re cleaning up the Arling from the Blight, I will never know.”

         “When do we leave?”

         “I won’t be along,” Leonie said.

         Anders stilled his fingers against her skin.

         “I need to go and clean up the mess Velanna made in the Wending Wood. Bann Esmerelle is demanding the city be paid damages from the lost caravan. Something about reparations for the lost income she’d have had from the taxes.”

         “Can she do that?” Anders asked, skeptical of this entire errand.

         “You see, ‘can’ is a strange way to ask that,” Leonie said. Her eyes opened and she looked up the scant inches between them. “Because she already has, whether she can or not.”

         “I don’t trust her.”

         “Neither do I, but I’m an Orlesian,” Leonie said. She lifted gloved hands and took hold of his wrists gently. “It’s reassuring to know I’m not the only one.”

         “I could go with you,” Anders offered. “The Wending Wood-”

         “Velanna knows the land better,” Leonie said with a slight shake of her head, “and it’s only fair that she help clean up the mess she made.”

         That… was relatively sound logic. He nodded, slowly.

         Leonie sighed in relief. “Thank you,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his lips gently.

         The motion felt stiff, and the kiss felt awkward. Anders pressed his lips back to hers, figuring it was just that they were out of practice that made the kiss feel strange. She pulled back from it, and she was smiling, so it couldn’t be that bad.

         “Am I going to have to strip you out of that armor when I get back so you get some sleep?” he chided her softly.

         “It would certainly be the right encouragement,” Leonie said. She squeezed his wrists and pulled back. Her smile held as she backed for the door, still watching him. “They’ll meet you after lunch, alright?”

         Anders nodded. “Of course, I never realized how glamorous life as a Warden would be. The Blackmarsh is so… exotic.”

         She paused at the door, “You didn’t complain last time.”

         “Not complaining doesn’t mean I liked it. The Blackmarsh is disgusting, and decaying… and the Fade is-”

         “We fixed the Fade issue, you said.”

         “We did, but patching holes doesn’t make it comfortable for me. And the damage was there when we went the first time, it’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to forget,” Anders protested.

         “You didn’t seem to mind curling up against my back at night,” Leonie replied.

         “It was _scary_ ,” Anders replied.

         “And it was nice to sleep like that,” Leonie said. “When we get back… do you think we can-”

         “Has your door been open?” Anders asked.

         He was surprised he asked it, because it was a question he was afraid of the answer to. The little system had been set up between them months ago, when things were less sure. It was a code. If her door was slightly ajar, she was waiting for him. Once he’d almost lost her because he hadn’t thought to look.

         “You mean you haven’t been checking?” Leonie quipped with a chuckle. Anders winced, but didn’t say anything. She lingered in the doorway, one dirty glove resting on the stone. “It’s always been open to you, Anders.”

         A warm feeling started in his chest, and he felt a smile spreading across his lips. “Well then… I suppose I’ll be joining you when we both get back.”

         “I’ll look forward to it,” Leonie said. She tapped her fingers against the stone before turning to head back down the stairs into the body of the Keep.

         Anders settled back on the stool, smiling to himself. The warm feeling spread through him, and all the worry that had been gnawing at him seemed to disappear. Maybe he was wrong about love. Maybe it was good things, and he’d just been looking at it wrong. He loved Leonie, and that was more important than whatever training she’d had. He loved her, and that was stronger than any prejudice there might be against it.


	8. Chapter 8

         The problem, Justice thought, was the Templar. Without the Templar, the Chantry had no teeth with which to enforce their oppression of mages. If it were not for the Templar, for the Chantry, then mages… then _Anders_ would not have been taken from his family. If it were not for the Templar, Anders would not have been forced to become a Grey Warden, and he would not have had his life’s duration shortened. He would not be bound as he was. He would be free, as all beings deserved.

         Truly, the injustice of it should not go unnoticed.

         Anders should be protected from such a fate.

         “Justice.”

         Looking up from sharpening the sword that he used, Justice was surprised to find the Warden Commander standing in the doorway. “Commander.”

         “I have a favor I need to ask of you.”

         Setting the sword down, Justice rose from the bench he was sitting on. “I am in your service, Commander, you may ask of me anything you require.”

         “I understand that, and I appreciate your trust,” the Commander said. “But I am asking you this… personally.”

         “I am not certain I understand, Commander.”

         “I need you to go with Anders into the Blackmarsh.”

         “I do not see how that is a personal request, Commander, but I will do it.”

         “I need you to keep him there for a few days.”

         “Your request is illogical, considering your relationship with him,” Justice replied. “I will do as you ask, but will you tell me why you ask such a thing?”

         “The Templar are coming to search for him,” the Commander said. “I want him kept safe.”

         Here, then, were the Templar again threatening Anders’ life. Justice did not notice when things had changed. He had sought to know some mortal, and Anders had been his choice, but along the way Anders had become more important than just a partner for conversation. Anders was a mage, and so he was special, but in the deepening acquaintance, Anders had ceased to be ‘a’ mage, and had become _the mage_. The injustice that Anders suffered in being taken from his family, the oppression of the Templars against him was the oppression of all mages. As Anders was innocuous, mages were innocuous. As he had deemed Anders innocent, all mages were innocent.

         Now, the Templar were after a mage, and Justice knew that they would not stop until they had him. Fighting the Templar was ill-advised. It would cause loss of life of others who were undeserving of it. The Commander had a cause that she was dutiful to, and it was a righteous cause that she should shrug in order to fall for another.

         There was only one good conclusion.

         “Would it not be safer to allow him to depart Vigil’s Keep?”

         “If everything goes according to my plan, he won’t have to run after this.”

         “You have some mission of your own that prevents you from accompanying him?”

         The Commander took a deep breath, and exhaled it slowly. “I’m going to Denerim to speak to the king about his phylactery. My hope is that the King, who’s a Grey Warden himself, will understand the need for freedom of movement.”

         “And if this… king does not understand?”

         “Then I’ll need a new plan.”

         “Would it not then be beneficial to release him?”

         The Commander stared at Justice. The hardness of her gaze was something he was unfamiliar with being the focus of, and it stopped his further attempt at questions that ought to convince her of the merit in releasing Anders.

         “You have learned many things, Justice,” she said, “but did Kistoff release Aura?”

         Justice was taken aback by the question. He stared back at the Commander, and the memories of Kristoff and Aura stirred within him. Justice was lost to the strength of them. He saw many things, all in a rush almost too fast to comprehend. Kristoff as a younger man, a soldier, scouted by a Grey Warden Commander. And then there was Aura. Even in memory she affected change on the way things worked. It was almost like the clouds had parted to let sunlight in. Kristoff shied away from marriage, knowing it would be better for Aura if she were allowed a normal husband.

         Aura had not taken Kristoff’s reasoning well. They quarreled, but her reason won out. She would have him, and he would have the Wardens. They married before Kristoff took the Joining.

         “It would be more accurate to say that Aura did not release Kristoff,” Justice replied.

         “I know,” the Commander replied.

         Justice looked up at the Commander. “How can you know?”

         “I knew Kristoff in Orlais. Aura was always a strong-willed woman, and she loved him profoundly,” the Commander said.

         “I… had not realized.”

         “It doesn’t surprise me. I imagine that one’s dying thoughts are focused on what one loved most in life.”

         Silence fell between them. Justice had no comfort to offer, though he realized that comfort would be appropriate in this instance. He turned his eyes to the floor. He found that staring at a solid, lifeless object made it easier to sort through the human thoughts and feelings that echoed through him because of his vessel.

         “Do you expect me to do less for the man I love?”

         Startled, Justice looked up at the Commander. Her eyes were bright as she stared at him, as though they were lit by the passion of her statement.

         “I… would…”

         “Will you take him?”

         “Yes, Commander.”

         The Commander nodded. “Thank you, Justice,” she said. Then she turned for the door, and left Justice alone with his thoughts.

         The problem of the Templar threat to Anders continued to make circles through his thoughts, and eventually he came up with a new solution.


	9. Chapter 9

         “It’s just like a family outing,” Anders said. He said it to avoid the sticky feeling on his neck. He was not overly fond of sweating, but the only way to have avoided the humidity of the afternoon would have been to stay in Vigil’s Keep, and he had promised Leonie that he would muck out to the Blackmarsh with the boys for whatever was attacking the Bann’s men.

         “If we’re supposedly related, Anders, I’d rather be an orphan,” Nathaniel grumbled.

         Justice led the way. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words since they had all gathered their supplies and left Vigil’s Keep after lunch that day. Though he hated the assignment, at least he was with trustworthy Wardens. Justice’s presence, alone, was reassuring. Beyond giving the same steady advice Anders’ was used to getting from Karl, Justice was as much of a stone-wall guardian as Leonie in battle.

         Anders wondered if he had a thing for warriors. It wouldn’t make much sense, considering that most Templar were of the heavy-hitting variety.

         But no, Justice was nothing like a Templar. Justice was a good ear, he was… caring, in a way.

         The wind shifted.

         Justice was also rotting.

         “Are you sure you wouldn’t consider switching bodies, Justice?” Nathaniel asked.

         “I cannot understand your persistence in asking such a question, Nathaniel,” Justice replied. His shoulders straightened, and he quickened his step. “It is apparent to me that such a thing would rob another being of its freedom, and that would be unjust.”

         “If they’re dead, it’s not like that,” Nathaniel replied. “They don’t need the body anymore.”

         “I have told you before, I can feel the memories of the person whose body this was, it is not simply a body to be used.”

         “Just checking,” Nathaniel said.

         Anders had thought about it. It would certainly be easier to talk to Justice if he didn’t reek of decomposition and shed the larval stages of the creatures feasting on the flesh of his… corpse. The options open to the spirit didn’t seem fair, really. He was just as trapped as a mage in the Circle, only there was nothing Justice could do about his situation _except_ for finding something else to inhabit. Either a corpse or something living.

         Justice could, of course, inhabit an animal of some sort, but then he wouldn’t be able to speak anymore.

         Usually that was where Anders started thinking about something else. The idea of losing Justice managed to turn his stomach worse than the stench of Kristoff’s corpse.

         “He hasn’t become a demon in the last few weeks just from talking to me,” Anders replied. He stepped a bit further to the side. Some of the insects that fed on the corpse had found their way out of the armor, and they were leaving a squirming trail behind the black armored lead.

         “A feat that amazes.”

         “Desist this line of discussion,” Justice said.

         Nathaniel didn’t comment, but Anders wasn’t sure if that was because he had been ordered to stop or because he was slapping at insects that were swarming in the humid air and had started biting them. Helpfully, Anders cast a light frost spell and hung it around them as they walked. It killed most of the flying bugs, and it cut down a bit on the stench coming from Justice.

         “Have you thought any more about what to do?” Nathaniel asked.

         “I am unsure what you refer to.”

         “The corpse, Justice. I respect you, but respectfully you do leave pieces of Kristoff’s body all over Amaranthine. You’ll wear it out with the way we fight. Those wounds you got from the fight with the Mother don’t stay closed long.”

         Justice did not respond.

         “If a living body were willing-”

         “Possession is an act for demons. I am no demon.”

         “I know that,” Nathaniel snapped.

         They walked in silence for a few more yards. Anders refrained from comment so that he could maintain the frost spell. It was doing nothing for the stench, but the flying insects avoided them.

         “If the person were willing, it would be different,” Justice acceded, after a while. “But why would a mortal allow such a thing?”

         “There’s any number of reasons,” Nathaniel said. “Think of the possibilities. What could two accomplish that one couldn’t? If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon.”

         Justice turned to look over his shoulder at Nathaniel, and there was a curious tilt to the corpse’s lips, one that Anders wasn’t used to seeing. Usually Justice’s expression was neutral, or frowning.

         “It is… something to consider,” Justice said. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

         “You’re welcome,” Nathaniel said, smiling a little.

         “Haven’t we been walking too long? It’s still too bright out,” Anders said. “Last time we’d reached the creepy trees by now.”

         Nathaniel looked about, confused. “We… missed the turn.”

         “Andraste’s left knee,” Anders snapped. “You mean we have to spend more time marching through high grass in this heat?”

         “It’s called ‘summer’. Don’t they have it at Lake Calenhad?” Nathaniel asked.

         “We prefer to keep a large order of spring and fall, actually,” Anders said. “We find it-”

         “Wait,” Nathaniel interrupted. The archer reached for his bow. Ahead of him, Justice drew his sword.

         In hindsight, either he or Nathaniel ought to have realized that they were off their path. The Blackmarsh didn’t have this sort of near waist-high grass growing in or around it, and there certainly wasn’t this much sunlight. Even after the Fade had been repaired, darkness seemed to cling to the Blackmarsh and its environs.

         Nathaniel took a few quick steps to put himself in front of Anders and Justice. He held a hand up to indicate that they should be quiet.

         Anders knew it wasn’t darkspawn, at least. In the months since the Joining, he and the other recruits had begun to sense the presence of darkspawn. Taint called to taint, Anders thought. It was an opinion that had been more than reinforced during the fight at Drake’s Fall. The Children were something altogether unholy, a different feeling from normal darkspawn. The sensation of them was hungrier, and somehow more invasive.

         He could sense nothing ahead of them now, though, which meant that whatever was approaching was _not_ darkspawn.  
         Nathaniel stepped backwards, lowering his hand to indicate that they should take cover in the grass.

         Anders crouched, careful to also lower his staff into the grass. After a moment, he heard Justice do the same. Hiding was not something that came easily to Justice, it was against his nature.

         It wasn’t long before the sound of armored footsteps were audible. Anders couldn’t tell how many people there were, but the number had to be more than two. The voices came soon after.

         “... see the right o’this?” one voice asked. It was masculine, and sounded rather young, Anders thought.

         As they approached, the voices got louder.

         “Orlesians aren’t exactly known for being reasonable,” a second voice said. That speaker was feminine.

         “Rylock were rather hopeful that that new Warden Commander woul’be the exception that proved the rule,” the first voice said. 

         Thank the Maker for Nathaniel’s senses, Anders thought. There were _Templar_ coming towards them! He gripped his staff tighter. He wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or angry that he obviously hadn’t been given up as a runaway even after joining the Grey Wardens.

         “Well, no one’s heard from Rylock in months,” a third voice said. This voice sounded angry. “I don’t even need three guesses to figure out who killed her.”

         “You can’t go accusing the Wardens of killing her,” the second voice said, “her body was found in Amaranthine.”

         “And who’s the _Arl of Amaranthine?_ ”

         “An’ who’s the _Bann o’the city?_ ” the first voice quipped.

         There was a noise in the grass nearby him, and Anders turned to look, only to see Nathaniel creeping closer. Anders met his eyes, and Nathaniel gave a short shake of his head. Of course, Nathaniel was being reasonable. The Templar hadn’t been lucky enough to attack them, and jumping out to confront them was a bad idea when they didn’t know how many there were.

         “Do you really want to try fighting through a legion of Grey Wardens just to capture one apostate?” the female voice asked.

         “You’re just soft on the blighter,” the third voice complained. “I don’t even know why they sent someone _like you_ out on a renegade run.”

         “Possibly to keep yer head in th’right place,” the first voice replied. “I, fer one, donn’wanna fight through the ranks of Wardens just to retrieve one lost mage.”

         The noise of the greaved footsteps stopped. “One lost mage? How many mages did it take to turn _the entire Circle tower_ into a nest of abominations? That started with **one mage.** ”

         “Not all the mages became abominations,” the second voice replied.

         “No, the rest turned to blood magic!”

         Nathaniel crept closer and put a hand on Anders’ arm. Thankfully he had been able to sense the approach, or he might have jumped and given their position away. Nathaniel’s brows were drawn together, and Anders didn’t understand why until he motioned towards Justice.

         A few feet ahead of him, Justice was twitching where he crouched. Little jerks of the black armor were enough to make the grass around him shake slightly, though the noise of the metal wasn’t very loud.

         The Templars continued to argue, but Anders ignored them. They didn’t know it, but they weren’t even talking about him. Not only had he never bothered with blood magic, but he wasn’t in the tower when Uldred had staged his misguided coup. Getting angry about _another prejudiced Templar_ was a waste of time.

         There were more important things. 

         Like his friends.

         Carefully, Anders crept forward. He wasn’t nearly as subtle about it as Nathaniel could be, but both Nathaniel and Sigrun had taken pains to be sure that Anders could move with at least a _little_ stealth, as they both agreed he was terrible at it. So long as he moved slowly, Anders was certain the arguing Templar wouldn’t even notice the grass moving.

         Behind him, Nathaniel shifted back onto the balls of his feet and took an arrow from the quiver he wore over his shoulder.

         Justice had both hands clenched. One gripped the hilt of his sword, the other was in the dirt, and he was staring at the ground hard enough that it looked like he wanted to set it on fire.

         Anders had never seen Justice angry before, but this had to be anger. Anders just didn’t understand why. He reached over and put his hand on Justice’s shoulder, hoping to draw his attention from whatever was upsetting him.

         The eyes that met Ander’s were glowing. The dried out skin on Justice’s face - it no longer looked like Kristoff’s - was contorted strangely. Some of the muscles didn’t seem to want to flex, and the expression was pulling taught ski that had lost any give it once had.

         Anders thought he should probably be scared, or horrified by what he was looking at, but he wasn’t.

         The face was horrific, he wouldn’t deny that, but there was something still familiar about it. Justice was there, and Anders _knew_ Justice. Anders _trusted_ Justice, so even the look was angry instead of horrifying.

         There was the noise of a scuffle that sounded far too close. Anders tensed, hand tightening on the staff, but a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned, and Nathaniel shook his head again, lifting a finger to his lips.

         “If the two of you are _quite_ finished,” the second voice snapped, “we have quite a walk ahead before we get to Vigil’s Keep.”

         The creak of armor answered her, as the other two Templar obviously picked themselves up from where they’d fallen.

         “ ’ey... wait,” the first voice said.

         “What is it now?”

         “Don’tcha feel tha’?”

         There was silence in response. Anders held his breath. Nathaniel released his shoulder, and pulled and notched an arrow in his bow.

         “I don’t feel anything,” the second voice said.

  
         “Spread out,” the first voice ordered, “we’re not alone. Somethin’s hidin’.”

         The noise of armored footsteps that followed that indicated that there were far more than three Templar in this unit. He had been escorted by six the last time. From the amount of noise, there had to be at least that many approaching them.

         No, seven.

         Eight…

         … that made nine, and then ten. At least ten Templar were fanning out, and from the sound of the armor moving, they were headed towards the grass where they were crouching.

         An irrational stab of fear speared Anders in the stomach. It was the same sensation he always felt when the Templar found him. He hadn’t felt it in a while. It was _safe_ , being a Grey Warden. Leonie exuded that sort of an atmosphere, the kind that said everything would be ok. Even after he’d found out that she had trained as a Templar, it still felt…

         A twig snapped, far too close for comfort. Anders took a shaky breath and put both hands on his staff.

         Justice covered the hands he put on the grip of his staff with one of his own. It was an odd gesture. Most of the time, Justice kept himself physically aloof from the other Wardens out of consideration for their reaction to his corpse.

         Anders looked up, but only caught Justice’s eyes for a moment. They still had that strange glow to them, and it ended so quickly that Anders couldn’t place the look he was given.

         With a powerful shrug of his shoulders, Justice knocked both Anders and Nathaniel backwards and lurched to his feet.

         Beyond the grassline, the Templar exclaimed in surprised.

         “Is _that_ what the stench was?” the third speaker demanded.

         “What _is it_?” the second voice called out.

         “ ’e’s tainted,” the first speaker said.

         Justice lurched forward a step. It was the sort of motion that he hadn’t made since the first day he’d been in Kristoff’s corpse. Anders started to speak, but Nathaniel clasped a hand over his mouth. The grip was so strong that it felt like an ogre had hold of him.

         “Isn’t that what the blighted Wardens are _for_?” another nervous voice asked.

         “Might as well do ’em a bit of a favor,” the first speaker said. “Make that Orlesian of theirs’ a bit more friendly.”

         The noise of a sword being drawn sounded too close and far too loud. No sword made that much noise being pulled from its scabbard or bauldric. It _couldn’t_.

         But it did. Anders heard it just like it was happening right next to him. Panic froze Anders. What he heard came strangely, and what he could see was too-bright or maybe the wrong color like he was in the Fade. Anders couldn’t move, either because of the panic or the strong arm Nathaniel had locked around him.

         “How do you kill one of them things?” one of the other Templar asked. “They’re half-dead anyway, so… just stabbin’ ‘em won’t work, will it?”

         “Not sure,” the first speaker said, “but I reckon this’ll do.”

         Wide-eyed, Anders stared at the wobbling black armor that was staggering away from them. It was all too surreal. It was almost lke he was in the Fade, watching things he had no control over.

         And then he remembered.

         His friend… _Justice_ was in that armor.

         Sound came rushing back, and the whistling noise of a sword swinging through the air was loud and shrill.

         The whole black figure was jerked to the side with the force of the blow.

         It fell in two pieces.


	10. Chapter 10

## 10

 

         The decision to protect his companions had come in an instant. There had been barely time to motion Nathaniel to restrain Anders before he rose. Bending made corpse stiff, almost as bad as cold mornings. Justice headed towards the Templar, and watched the entire scene unfold impassively. Speech would have indicated he was more than a victim of the Taint to the Templar, and that would not do to protect Anders and Nathaniel.

         When the blow came, he felt it in the same way he felt a blow to his shield. It was a heavy thing, but Justice did not feel pain the way a mortal did.

         Being in two parts was strange, but he found that though the head had been detached, he could still feel the rest of the corpse. If he tried, he thought he could move the fingers.

         A booted foot kicked the helmeted head away from the body, and that made the feeling dim.

         “Not much it can do like tha’,” the Templar standing over him said. “Now let’s get on, I don’t fancy spend the night out with these things. D’any of you?”

         There was a noise of agreement. Justice watched as the Templar sheathed his sword, spat on the ground, and turned in the direction that the three of them had come from the Vigil. The uncomfortable feeling of crawling that was often inside the corpse faded, and he thought there was wetness around where the neck was.

         After a while, Nathaniel released Anders.

         “You have to keep your voice _down_ ,” Nathaniel demanded. “There could be more of them.”

         Anders snarled something at the rogue, but Justice couldn’t make it out. The face guard was lifted, and then Justice could see Anders more properly. His vision was obstructed as Anders worked the head out of the helmet.

         “This isn’t fair,” Anders said.

         There were tears in his eyes.

         Justice tried to say something, but without the throat connected to the torso, there was no air to form words with.

         “Y-you told me I wasn’t alone,” Anders said. “But you couldn’t have meant for this. You couldn’t have meant without…” Anders trailed off in a broken sound that Justice didn’t recognize. “Can you even hear us, Justice?” Anders asked. “I don’t know… blink or something if you can hear me. If you understand what-”

         Justice blinked for him.

         “Thank the Maker,” Anders breathed.

         “We need to get him out of here,” Nathaniel said in a hushed voice.

         Anders looked up at the archer. “And you think the two of us can drag all that somewhere?”

         “We’ll get a wagon or something,” Nathaniel said.

         “You’d leave him here-”

         “Nothing’s going to disturb a tainted corpse, Anders, be reasonable. Maybe the Commander hasn’t left yet. She’ll know what to do.”

         “In case you missed it, those Templar are looking _for me_. They’re headed to the Keep, and if they find me there, it’ll take more than… than a beheading to hide me from them.”

         Justice wished he could make sound come out of the corpse’s lips.

         Nathaniel glanced down at him, and then gave a frustrated grunt as he looked at Anders. “Justice didn’t do this so you’d be caught, Anders. If we stay here we will be.”

         “I won’t leave him behind,” Anders said. His grip shifted on the head to one more defensive. “He wouldn’t leave us.”

         “We can’t move _that body_ by ourselves,” Nathaniel snapped. “I don’t want to leave him behind, but I don’t see any other option.”

         “There’s always another option, with magic.”


	11. Chapter 11

            Somewhere along the way, all this had been a good idea. If he were asked, Anders wouldn’t be able to say when that was, or at what point it had ceased to be ‘something he could do, maybe’ and something ‘he would do if the moment arose’.

            The Warden Commander – no, Leonie! she was still his Leonie! – was supposed to understand. She liked Justice, at least enough to have let him tag along as a Warden with them. She wasn’t supposed begrudge the Spirit this. How could anyone begrudge Justice getting out of the corpse, especially when no one knew the alternative.

            He knew that he’d thought that, but now he wasn’t sure that Justice had any similar notion. For a week, the three of them had kept away from Vigil’s Keep. Anders understood from Justice that it was the Commander’s intention that he be away when the Templar came.

         When the head had come off Kristoff’s body, Anders had panicked. It felt like he was losing his closest friend, and as that feeling sunk in, loneliness loomed beyond it larger and scarier than any demon that could manifest itself in the Fade.

         The only thought in his mind had been that _Justice had to live._

         If he were asked, he wouldn’t be able to say how the transfer happened. One moment he was kneeling in the grass with Justice staring up at him from Kristoff’s decapitated head in his lap, and then he could almost hear Justice promising that Anders would never feel alone again. And then they were both kneeling together in the trampled grass staring down at the empty eyes of a mutilated corpse.

         It was quite a shock for them to have their minds pushed together. After that first impression of the familiar voice, things became a jumble. There was, at first, no separation between them. The rush of confusion and coldness and _power_ overwhelmed him. Anders could _feel_ himself losing things. A surge of curiosity was like fingers all over his memories. The happy ones came first, the pleasant ones. There was some sort of interest in his liaisons. First the Commander – and it was strange to think of her like that and not with her name, but Justice had such a _strong_ association of her with her title that he could barely think it – and then Karl, and Namaya, before that Rodderick, and Minuet and all the other hot, sweaty fumbles he’d had in the Circle Tower.

         Every memory was sharp and clear and new as though it had just happened. In short, it was wonderful and passionate and-

         Then the curiosity moved on to unpleasant things, like his solitary confinement, and worse. Anders started screaming inside himself when the curiosity focused on the _worse_. He had trouble discerning what was left of himself inside the body he was now sharing.

         Then, suddenly as though Justice had taken a step backwards, there were two of them in the same space.

         Justice went silent, and Anders was left awake with Nathaniel in a familiar campsite in the Blackmarsh that he hadn’t seen in months. Nathaniel had shoved a bowl at him and said that ‘since the two of you are awake, feed yourselves’. It was a curious reaction, Anders thought, since he’d been saying how alright it would be if the new host was willing.

         Eventually, though, they had to return to the Keep.

         Simple functions sometimes caused Anders to trip. It was like his thoughts were too fast for his body to obey, and when they were attacked by wolves as they made their way out of the Blackmarsh, Anders found that his magic came easily in a great rush of power when it was needed.

         It was a heady feeling, but there was something off about it. He had enjoyed the exertion of casting his magic. It was so willing now that there wasn’t anything to work at. It almost felt… hollow.

         And Justice had purposefully taken the wrong path.

         Anders was sure he had meant to confront the Templar, but they had come across them by Justice’s design. It was a decision that Anders was certain had been well-intentioned.

         The longer he spent with the spirit in him, the more transparent thoughts and memories became. It would be wrong to call it guile, because Justice still didn’t understand such a thing, but Justice had had some idea what the Warden Commander’s reaction to this would be.

         And now he was staring at her back.

         Anders couldn’t recall going to see her. He recalled entering through the gate, but after that there was nothing.

         Other things were clearing up, and it was easier to tell what Justice thought, but the Spirit seemed stronger than him. It was obvious now, as Justice just _didn’t let_ Anders know what her reaction was, or what words had passed between them.

         Anders had been shut out of that conversation. He was blind and deaf and dumb inside himself when Leonie confronted them about it, and when he was given back control of himself she was staring out a window with her back to him.

         It was the first blackout, the first gap of time that he couldn’t place.

         It was not the last.


End file.
